A Lone Shark
by DameRelent
Summary: Erik Lensherr is a loan shark working under Sebastian Shaw so as to seek revenge for his murdered mother. When he meets unknown debtor, Charles Xavier, secrets suddenly start to come out of hiding and plans realized. Are his facts really straight though?
1. CH 1: Shark Business

The _scritch scritch_ of a fancy pen sounded throughout a large, hardly furnished office room. It was working slowly and delicately along a piece of cream colored parchment in fine curves and loops. This was a very important document it was being made to write out and so there was no room for mistakes. With that, a contented sigh sounded from its owner as the last word, a signature, was placed and then a simple line stretched out across the bottom. "Sign here," the man turned the document around on his desk to face another standing nervously across from him. The perfection that was his work of art was then lost by the sloppy scribble of a name that was placed at the end with an uneasy hurry. He looked unpleasantly at the client, but tried not to roll his eyes as he took the new contract, rolled it up, and placed it inside a cardboard tube.

"Your deal is made then. We'll be calling on you in a week's time to collect your debt," he smiled sourly. "Don't forget." Then he took a wad of cash from his coat pocket and slid it across the table. The client took it greedily with no hesitation and rushed for the door, almost falling over a single wooden chair as he went. The man still sitting behind his polished oak desk picked up the receiver sitting idly on the edge and pressed a few numbers, "One new client. Just went rushing out to spend his life away."

"Good job, Erik," the voice on the other end praised. "I'll be faxing your itinerary soon." Then they hung up. Leisurely chats weren't exactly something they felt the need to occupy themselves with. Only simple messages on how the job was going and where it was going were important. Everything else was a waste of their time and wasting time wasn't something Erik Lensherr did.

Even now as he was waiting for the silence breaking hum of a paper coming through the fax he was preparing himself for the day's occupation. He laid out an open briefcase on his desk and began pulling tubes upon tubes from his organized shelf of them, removing the written contracts inside and placing them neatly in his case. He already knew who half the clients on his itinerary would be and even though taking their contracts for his visit wasn't necessary at all, it was a routine he fell accustomed to. He liked to keep his hands busy because if he wasn't busy he was thinking about his mother.

Erik's mother was deceased, murdered actually, and possibly by someone in this crooked business she had gotten herself involved with. Exacting revenge on the one responsible has been his lifelong goal and Shaw had promised to help him achieve that. In the meantime Erik was placed into a powerful position as one of the many loan sharks, the top loan shark, in the trade. Sebastian Shaw doesn't dirty his hands with the money swindling, he only keeps track of it, and Erik is loyal like a dog (although he really wishes he didn't have to be).

Just as the fax machine started up its dull rumbling Erik pulled on a pair of black gloves and slipped a knife into his coat pocket. The paper radiated heat even through the cloth on his hands as he picked it up and glanced over the names. He was a bit smug with himself as he read off every name he had already placed in his briefcase, but then he reached the end of the list to find someone new. _Xavier_. That was strange. He didn't recall ever having dealt a deal with someone of that name. He placed the list on his desk and stood in front of his shelf of contracts. His finger slid listlessly down the alphabet until he hit the right piece of cardboard piping. Sure enough, there was a Xavier. He drew it out from its snug position and turned it over in his hands before slipping out the parchment. It was old and dark and a little dusty. This couldn't be right. Why would they suddenly be dredging up such an old agreement?

He wasn't one to question his orders though and when he got a look at the location he was headed for he almost smiled. These were rich clients. If there was one thing Erik didn't mind, it was collecting debt from rich bozos and this one came with a hefty interest. So without another thought he stretched the paper out on top of the others and shut his briefcase with a _snap_of the latches.

* * *

><p>His list of clients was quick to go through. He had dealt with them all before and just seeing him on their doorstep told them what was about to happen and what they should do. A few of them had managed to gather enough money to get them through till next week, but quite a few found their selves in a bad predicament. This was a nasty business. Erik knew that. He kept the guilty feeling from it away by telling himself they were all bad people using the money for ridiculous selfish reasons. No sick children. No lovers on their death bed. He tells himself that all the money they loan has never truly helped a soul.<p>

So a rich twat with too much time on his hands who borrowed money for the fun of it was what he was expecting when he walked up the large grassy expanse towards the mansion he was last collecting from. _The money was probably spent on some high end race car that sits in the garage_ he continues to theorize, traipsing through those last few paces. _An ugly git who can only score women by showing off his wealth_ is what he thinks as raps his knuckles against the intricately designed wooden door.

The door pulls inward slowly and a man, probably in his early thirties, steps out into the entrance," Hello." With the image Erik had formed in his mind of who he'd be meeting it was only reasonable that he was suddenly taken aback by what he was actually presented. Short. Wavy, but neatly brushed back chocolate brown hair. Not to mention the stunning blue eyes. The only thing he got right was the prissy upper-class cardigan and even that he pulled off rather well. "May I… help you?"

Erik snapped out of his stupor, realizing the way he was staring was probably coming off in a creepy manner. He bowed his head somewhat in apology, but also to clear his clouded thoughts. Then he looked back up with a more business-like manner, "Well, I doubt you're the one to have made such an old agreement so is there possibly an elder gentleman living here?"

"If it's my father you're thinking of, he's no longer with us. Died a few months back."  
>"How about your mother then?" Erik hated dealing with women, but it was by rule that she should be the next person to talk to about her husband's dealings.<p>

"Dead too, I'm afraid," the man sighed. "Sorry to say, but I'm the only one you could possibly talk to."  
><em>Fuck<em>. He curses to himself as he realizes what is going on. These people must have been a powerful influence somewhere and copped their way out of paying back the loan. Shaw was just waiting for the two geezers to fall of the bucket so he could drop the debt on their unsuspecting kid. Shaw knows Erik doesn't like conducting business such as this, so why add the Xavier bloke to his list? He could have given it to any other shark that would be happy to beat up on a frail, educated upper-class guy with pretty looks. _Just forget it, Erik._ _Father like son, right? Who cares if he's got puppy dog eyes and cherry red lips, he's probably just as arrogant and selfish as the rest of them._

"I suppose I'll have to," Erik opens his briefcase, just a tiny bit ecstatic that his need for being prepared was finally coming in handy. He removed the contract, closed the case, and held the paper out in front of him for the beneficiary to see. "You're father owes us quite a bit in debt and I've come to collect."

You could see the shock spread across the man's face as he read through and realized how much he meant by 'quite a bit'. "My father is dead, sir, I have nothing to do with whatever investments he made during his life."

"I'd like to disagree. We don't drop debts just because our clients drop off the face of the earth. You're his living successor, the debt falls to you."

"I'm sorry, but I don't have anywhere near this kind of money," he shakes his head vigorously and pushes the contract back into Erik's hands. He steps back and makes to the close the door on the unwanted visitor, but Erik slams his hand against the wooden slab and holds it open.

"I won't leave unt—"

He's stopped short by the presence of a young woman walking up behind his prey, "Charles, what's going on? Who's at the door?"

Charles. Charles Xavier. The so-mentioned eyes Erik despairingly and shouts out to the woman, "It's nothing, Raven. I'm dealing with it. Get back to your studies before I assign you even more homework." You could hear a loud groan moving back into the house and away from the door as she went to do as told.

"Homeschooled?" Erik questions. He shouldn't be prying into a client's personal life, but this intrigued him. He stepped out of the way as Charles decided to take their dispute outside and close the door behind him.

"Yes, well, I can't afford to send her to a real college," Charles rubbed his fingers wearily against his forehead. He took a moment to think about the situation he was in now before looking up into Erik's green pupils, "Is there anything else I can do to pay this off without cash? I really don't have the funds and I don't see myself getting such an amount any time in the near future."

Erik placed a hand against the wall of the house and leaned against it. "I've noticed you have quite the extravagant house," he said partially jokingly, "I'm sure you could put it on the market for almost just as much as your debt."

"No," Charles answered immediately, "no. Raven and I grew up in this house together and I could never take her out of that comfort zone even if I tried." He started to lose his calm and almost frantic with the thought of what could happen if he didn't get this sorted out. "Before you even suggest it, the majority of what lies within the house has already been sold and the profits used for our livelihood seeing as this home is the only thing that was left to us."

He started to pace back and forth in a short line, drumming a finger against his lips as he tried to think. Erik didn't even realize he was gawking, chewing on his lip even, until the worrying man came to a halt and turned to face him. "I'm at a loss here," he emphasized by throwing his hands out in front of him. A pained look crossed his expression and he placed his forehead in the crook of his thumb and index finger, his other hand resting on his hip.

"Hey, I'll…" _What am I doing? _Erik questioned while stepping forward and reassuringly gripping Charles' shoulder. "I'll figure something out for you."

"Really?" he looked up, a little brighter in the face. Then he took the other man's hand from his shoulder and shook it in both his own. "I would be most grateful."


	2. CH 2: Under Water

Hm. This ended up taking more of a sensual turn towards the end than I was expecting. Also, sometimes I feel I spend way too much time in the characters' heads, but what the fuck ever, I think it's fun. Yaknow. I started this with it mind that this was taking place in present times but in my head when ever I imagine the scenes I keep seeing them all vintage, like in the 20s. I don't knooow.  
>Please enjoy this next chapter.<p>

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><p>The heavy door banged shut behind him with a <em>thud<em>. He took a moment to recollect his self, brush a hand through his hair, rub his fingers across his face to smooth out the troubled expression, and take in a big breath before letting it out in a loud exhale. The empty span of the entryway and hallway after was daunting so he took quick strides through it, making his way to the room he knew his sister was occupying. She sat languidly at a table, fingers entwining in her blonde hair out of boredom and frustration from the work she was looking at. It could almost appear as though she really would pull her hair out. Trying hard not to pay too much attention to the problems she was supposed to be solving, she immediately heard her brother enter the room and looked up. At first she was smiling, but then she noticed the expression on his face.

"Raven, I think they're on to me."

"Already?" she whispered harshly, in compliance with her brother's own hushed voice. It was like in the back of their minds they thought it possible someone was listening in. "You just started this case."

Truth be told, Charles Xavier is a private detective. Not a very good one at that. Raven has harassed him relentlessly about taking up a more suited job, like teaching, but he simply refuses. Teaching requires more schooling, more money, and he hasn't the funds. Being a private detective isn't a stable job, not a very safe one either, but it does bring in some cash when he manages to actually solve a case.

And right now he was on a case. A dangerous one. A _very _dangerous one and both he and his sister knew so when he took it. The client who had come in with the commission had been beaten severely. He was in a wheelchair, both legs broken, possibly unable to ever completely heal. His face was an absolute mess, with several teeth missing, black eyes, and pieces of flesh trying to bring itself back together. There were bruises and cuts all over. Charles should have denied the request, admitted he wasn't suited for such a difficult job, but the state of the man had his morals getting the best of him. So when he was asked to investigate a certain loan shark company, not just to out its shoddy loaning business, he unwittingly accepted.

This was only a week ago. He had barely piled together an informative leaflet for himself on what exactly the company does, at least, what information can easily be obtained by anyone willing to deal with them. From his client he learned about the contracts, the consequences, and was even given a few names of other victims he could speak to. He had actually planned on taking out a loan himself just to get inside because the building he found to house the company was so heavily guarded it definitely seemed impossible to sneak his way in.

"_Father_ took out a loan with them," he began to explain. "The contract looks so old though I have to wonder why they're just now collecting on it… unless they _know_."

"Charles, you need to get yourself out of this now. I am not going to let you get killed just so you can feel good about yourself." Raven put a disapproving eye on him, grabbing him by the shoulders to make sure he had every ounce of his attention on what she was telling him. She knows Charles and one thing he enjoys is a _game_. That's what this was turning into. He couldn't see that he was getting himself into a load of trouble. He only saw that the opposing player was making a strategic move and that he needed to find a way to stump it. Charles may be smart, he may be good at playing the other's hand, but he is _not_ a detective and he needs to realize that before something really bad happens. "This isn't like a simple game of chess, Charles," she tries to explain further. "This is real life and you could be seriously hurt."

"Oh, but the man who came to our house was rather nice," he stated out of the blue, dismissing what Raven was trying to say. "He may be my ticket to solving this case."  
>He didn't quite like the thought of taking advantage of the man who was trying to help him in his financial problems, but now that it seemed impossible to take out a loan himself, his father's loan was his only way in. He could get to know this man, get him to trust him somehow, and then use him to dig out the dirty secrets hiding under the floorboards of that massive building. If he plays his cards right he may even be able to get inside the company. "This could work, Raven!" he coerced, wishing his sister would support him instead of trying to talk him out of it. He contentedly pushed his fingers through the side of his hair, "Oddly enough, the man seemed quite enamored with me."<p>

"Don't flatter yourself," Raven rolled her eyes but he could tell that comment had lightened her mood, which was his purpose for saying it. It did seem relatively true though. Charles couldn't have not seen the way the shark kept eyeing him. It could just be wishful thinking, but it seemed highly unlikely that someone taught to be ruthless and unforgiving had left without putting a single injury on his person. He's heard plenty stories of the way these people work. They're quick to violence and won't leave without either money or some sort of painful collateral. Charles was left without giving either. Actually, he was more or less left with a promise of better comings.

* * *

><p><em>Shitshitshit<em>. Everyone within the vicinity of Erik's office could hear the bangs and crashes as he kicked and battered the walls and furniture. Not a single person had the courage to ask what exactly the commotion was about though. It was better to keep to themselves than face him in such a state, or ever, for that matter. So he was left to himself to knock over the only lamp, kick a hole in the wall, and storm around the wooden floor with loud, threatening clacking stomps of his feet. It took him a while to finally calm down enough to fall unsatisfied into his chair and slam his head onto the desk. _Why. Did. You. Do. That?_

He was busy reprimanding himself for the actions he took with Xavier. When he told Xavier that he would see what he could do he wasn't clearly thinking. He can't 'see what he can do'. There's only 'get money' and, well, 'get money'. There's no _seeing_. He's not working in a fucking bank. They don't try to work with their clients, help their clients, they just take and that is _not_ what he did with Charles Xavier. _If Shaw finds out about this_ he tells himself. He wasn't sure what would happened if Shaw found out, but in his gut he could tell it wouldn't be anything good. He'd just have to make sure the boss _doesn't_ find out. Easy, right?

Then his phone rang.

He glumly stared daggers at it as it rang once, then twice, a third time and he forced himself to remove the receiver and bring it to his ear. "Lensherr."  
>"Erik! Any profits today? Any body's need cleaning up? What's the news?"<p>

"I'll be sending the bit of income I acquired today shortly," he wanted to keep his responses short and simple. He needed to keep his voice steady. Shaw was sharp and could spot lies and mishaps from one little squeak.

"How about the Xavier case?"

Erik gulped. _Shit_. "About that. I don't understand why it was given to me. It's not my usual sort of job. I took care of it of course. The client can't pay at the time, but I made sure he understood our conditions and will be returning next week."

He could just about hear the venomous smile he knew was creeping up on that horrid man's face, "Good. Yes, the job isn't one you usually receive, but it just happened to be in your office. I'll be looking forward to seeing today's profit." Then he closed the call.

Once again, Erik was getting a strange feeling about this whole Xavier ordeal. That same sense when he first spotted the name on his list. Everyone knows Erik has a pristine memory and he _knows_ for a fact that his shelf was devastatingly empty when he first entered this office. The only contracts on that shelf are the ones he wrote himself. So the only way Xavier's could have made its way in was if someone else put it there. Why though? What's the point?

He would understand if maybe he was some big time mob boss or a rich scoundrel who's trying to get away without paying. He'd have fewer questions if this was a big job, with big problems, that needed an experienced, well-trained man on the job. Even with the question of why they had to sneak it in wouldn't matter as much if it just wasn't _Charles_. Hell, what is he getting at? He doesn't know a thing about this man. For all he knows the fragile looking British boy _could_ be one of those things. What does it matter if he's poor as fuck because of dead-beat parents, trying to take care of his sister and send her to school? What point does it make that he looks half-dead from exhaustion, probably due to late night worries and working himself too hard? Is it really so hard to believe that those thick thighs and slender arms—

He slams his head against the desk again.

This ridiculous infatuation was entirely unreasonable. He only just met the guy and for, what, ten minutes at most? Not to mention his usual utter disregard for such relationships and attraction. Why now? Why him? Fuck, why a _man_? It's incomprehensible as to why he's sitting here, _doing nothing_, with his mind wandering to perverse visions. Visions such as what he would like to do with those insufferably red lips, wondering if their soft or chapped, if the mouth behind them is warm and moist or dry from drink parched days. He wonders if the throat beyond that would produce piercing screams or low moans that vibrate through the body, if that soothing voice would talk dirty or constantly whisper sweet things against his skin.

At this point he shot up from his head to desk position and disheveled his hair with aggravated hands. He sat back against his chair with a huff and turned his eyes to the ceiling.  
>His eyelids slid down as his thoughts began to mosey on back to where they were stopped short, jaw clamping together at the erotic images he imagined. He wanted to know how that flesh would feel between his teeth and how the skin and blood and sweat would taste on his tongue. He just needs to feel what it would be like to spread those legs with his hands, his fingers running along the frame of them. He wants those soft (or maybe callused?) hands digging into his hair, nails scraping across his scalp and jolts of pain rushing down from the tugging and pulling. These fantasies are pushing him too far and he can feel, but not control, his hand that's making its way in-between his thighs.<p>

A knock sounds at the door, the click of a doorknob turning and the door opening. "Mr. Lensherr?" a voice inquires, entering the room cautiously.

"_What_?" the man growls, slamming his hands against the surface of his desk. If not the tone of his voice and the violent act of his hands, Erik's positively tousled and hungry looking self was enough to make the visitor feel like a fish being thrown to a shark. "I… can come back later."


	3. CH 3: Sinking Further

I feel like I keep stalling just to make Erik sexually frustrated. Does it feel like the story is going somewhere? I don't know, I'm having too much fun making him feel like he'll never get to tap that. Also, I have a new found love for writing on my iPad. For some reason it is just ridiculously fun and it got me out of my slump… unless this chapter is crap and I was just too infatuated to notice. Read it though. Enjooooy it.

* * *

><p>For Erik, the rest of the week wasn't a pleasant one. His mind kept slipping back to those mistaken words and he was constantly trying to formulate a way to fix them. Going back on what he says isn't something he enjoys doing unless the person deserves it and Charles Xavier had certainly done nothing to be such a person, but he just happened to twist Erik's tongue in the wrong way. He twisted it in a way that could possibly get the both of them in deep trouble. Sharks aren't supposed to show lenience with their prey. They could play with them, chase and tease and make them think they have a chance, but not show affection. Doing so could put the shark in grave danger and their prey be snatched by another. To avoid this Erik needed to forget about those strange feelings he was having and make himself see Xavier as just another client who needed to pay up.<p>

Keeping himself busy, as usual, was the only way he could think to get his mind out of that red zone. It was obvious to even him though that this plan was proving difficult. He had never had his mind swarming so violently with images and fantasies and wants and needs. There was no getting rid of them. Just those few minutes with that man had given his brain enough ammo for a lifelong war inside his head and it was battling furiously. Whereas he was known for his perfection in scribing his contracts, lately he was crumpling one after the other between his hands whenever he noticed the intermittent 'Charles' scribbled between the rest of the words. Where he used to be looked up to in training for his superb skills with the knife, nowadays he always missed his target because he would see Charles as the victim. He was a mess and others could tell.

Then the week finally came to a close, but if he thought the waiting was miserable then the day of had to be his death-wish. Immediately upon awakening his nerves were frayed, if he had even slept at all. He hadn't a clue what his plan was, but he needed to get it done with. Finished. Over. So it was only natural that he was up, ready, and speeding his motorcycle down the highway by seven in the morning, right? Sure, his normal time frame took place in the afternoon or the evening, but there was always an occasion for change. The frame of mind he was in, a calming bike ride in the cool morning air was needed anyway.

Once Erik arrived at the looming mansion his heart was pumping with adrenaline. His limbs felt numb from the wind and his hair a little out of order. He still felt nervous as Hell and, being without a plan, was going in improvising. So when the door pulled backed and the one he had been thinking about for the past seven days said, with a trouble-free expression," You've returned," his instincts took over. Not human instinct, but the reactions carved into him as a loan shark owned by Shaw.

He pushed the door fully open and charged on the victim, backing him into a wall of the entryway. At some point during his assault he had removed the knife from his jacket pocket and now had it only a centimeter away from the pale throat before him. "Here's how it works," he started, a mechanic tone to his voice. He pressed the cold blade against flesh, "You hand over a payment quick and easy or I'll have to slash up this pretty skin of yours."

"You find my skin appealing?" Erik tensed at the question, but kept his gaze intimidating and the blade pushing. "Well, hack away," Charles slowly lifted his hands and unfastened the top three buttons of his pajama top. He pushed the fabric apart, making sure to graze his fingers across the skin beneath. "I haven't a penny to spare."

Erik breathed in unsteadily loud at the sight before him. Having rushed in without a thought, he was just now taking in the full picture. A button up top and long pants, both striped with white and blue. The bed wear hung loosely on his body , but managed to accentuate all the right places. Not only that, but he pulled off bed hair astonishingly well. Too well. His bangs, that had been pushed back when they met, were now trying to fall into their proper place, but only managed to frame his forehead. His eyes were glassed over with tire. Barely visible pink outlines from a rough sleep accented his face. Erik was starting to feel his face burn with heat and he looked down, not the best of ideas, but hopefully a good enough one to keep the other man from noticing his flushing skin. "Do… do you play chess?" he asked out of need to put his mind elsewhere.

"Sorry if I'm interrupting some intimate moment, but _what_ are you doing, Charles?" they were both startled by the sudden inclusion of another voice and turned their eyes towards Charles' sister. She was down the hall, arms crossed in front of her robe. She had come down for breakfast only to turn and see a sight she was not expecting. It was a rather compromising position the two were in. Charles, pressed against the wall with Erik's left hand digging into his upper arm and a leg precariously perched between Charles' knees. Not only that, but Charles' shirt was unbuttoned and Erik's face having been seemingly bent down into the exposed chest with the both of them looking quite disheveled. "You could at least have the decency to take it to a room. There are plenty of them."

Erik wasn't bothering to move. He was subconsciously enjoying the situation he was in and thinking to himself that the sister should just move on and leave them to themselves. Charles, on the other hand, clumsily pushed the man away from him. "We were just headed to play a game of chess," he tried to cover, pushing his hair back and straightening his shirt. "Weren't we…?" he left the question hanging as he realized he still didn't know the name of the man across from him.

"Erik," he gruffly provided under his breath.

"Erik!" the last of his sentence shouted more in a way of statement. He looked back to his sister.

She glared at him through the unlit passage, but unfolded her arms and continued her walk to the kitchen. "Right. _Chess_. Whatever you call it, Romeo."

* * *

><p>"Please wait here while I go change." With those words Erik was left alone in what appeared to be a sitting room or maybe a really large study. There was a fireplace on the back wall, ashes and burnt pieces of wood resting on the floor inside. In front of it was a simple table and two large chairs on either side of it.<em>Sold everything, my ass.<em> With his kryptonite gone he was beginning to regret and despise his decisions again. He could tell this could only continue to get worse. That should be obvious from the fact that he still hadn't brought this problem to a conclusion, but was instead standing in a fancy house waiting for his _host_ to finish _changing_. He gulped as that thought finally surfaced in his mind.

_He's taking his clothes off. Right. Now._ he helpfully reminds himself. He tries to decide if Charles unbuttons his shirt and slips it off his back or pulls it up over his head to save time. Does he lift his legs from the pant legs one at a time or does he loosen them just enough for them to drop to the floor and he step out of them? Maybe he doesn't wear anything underneath his night wear. Maybe he's standing in his bedroom completely naked at this very moment, rummaging through his clothing as he decides what snug fitting cardigan to wear over what form fitting button up. It could be chilly in the room and he's getting goosebumps from the sweet caresses of cold air, making him rubs his hands up and down along his arms. He might drop a shirt and bend over to pick it up. He might feel the sudden urge to stretch, his raising arms and backside bringing to mind a sensual thrust upwards when—

"Alright then," his thoughts are interrupted by the exact person he was fantasizing about and he turns to take in his visage. He's not wearing a cardigan this time. No, that's a sweater vest and _fuck_ he had never found such an attire to be appealing on anyone until now. The dress shirt left untucked, it's pointed ends hanging out the bottom of the vest, makes him want to walk over and rip both shirts up and over Charles' head. "Are you any good?"

_Good enough to leave you begging for more_ he luckily replies only his head before realizing that Charles is holding up a boxed chess set to insinuate what he's asking. He pressed a hand to his mouth and runs the edge of his palm down his chin, breathing out slowly to help clear his head before answering. "Good enough to beat you."

"Is that so?" he looks absolutely giddy from Erik's response as he moves over to the table. He sets down the container and pulls out the board, setting it down softly. Then he sits, directs Erik to do the same, and starts readying the pieces. "I hope you're as good as you claim to be, because it would be wonderful to finally have a challenge for once."

He is. Dreadfully so. Charles soon finds himself feeling a loss coming on. It's been so long since he's been able to play a game with someone other than Raven and this man's moves are so thought out, yet so seemingly random with his ruthless tactics, that it's almost hard to keep up. This game consistently has him on his toes and thinking several steps ahead. His usual devices aren't proving useful. He truly has to use his full potential. For once, he's actually excited.

He smiles as he takes another piece from the field, absentmindedly beating it against his lips while thinking about how he might be able to pull off a win with the new strategy he's formulated in his head. He's so concentrated on the board, waiting for Erik's move, that he doesn't notice how he presses the rook in his hand against his bottom lip. The piece pulls down on the red flesh and his mouth is left slightly open. He twirls it listlessly around with his fingers. Then he suddenly puts it down on the table, a little concerned that Erik has yet to make his move. He raises his eyes to the opponent, only to find him staring right back at him. It's a little disconcerting really, the intensity in his eyes and the way it looks his jaw is clamped shut.

"Are you going to make your next move?"

The taller man looks as though he's been broken from a trance, jumping at the sound of his voice and readjusting his posture. He looks at the board for only a moment before moving. Charles watches him take the piece between his fingers and move it along the squares. He stops. Moves away. His turn ends.

Wait. Something seemed odd about that move. The whole game has been odd moves with this new opponent, but throughout this time he's come to somewhat understand how he works and this move was nothing like the rest. Not to mention, from what he could see… yes, that move, it just… "Checkmate," Charles says almost uncertainly as he completely traps Erik's king.

"Your win, Mr. Xavier," he praises, trying not to sound shaken. He was getting to that breaking point and needed to end this, he needed to leave. That move was fully intentional. He had hoped Charles wouldn't notice, but his expression told him he knew something was off here. "About our contract," he decides to deviate," I've decided how you will be repaying our loan."

"Is that so?" he breaks his attention from the flawed win.

"If you play a game of chess with me from time to time, I'll consider your debt nonexistent." _Just keep digging that hole, Lensherr. Dig it deep._

At the thought of future games, hopefully fair ones, his face lights up," That sounds like a deal I can handle." They both stand from their seats and shake on the agreement.

Then Erik grabs the coat he had removed during the game and slips it back on, "I'll show myself out, Mr. Xavier."

"Charles, if you will. I'd rather be on first name terms with such a worthy opponent," he smiles softly. Erik only nods and heads out the closed double doors of the room that lead back into the hallway. He found his way back to the entryway he had had the pleasure of being so acquainted that morning and lets himself out the door. Once he managed to walk back to his motorcycle he stopped. He froze in place, thinking back to the events that had transpired and the things he said.

"_SHIT_."


End file.
